


I've Drowned and Dreamt this Moment

by hypatia



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied Past Abuse, Implied Past Q/Silva, Implied Past Severine/Silva, Miscarriage, Q knew Silva, Skyfall Fix-It, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypatia/pseuds/hypatia
Summary: Bond entered the interrogation room. Both Sévérine and Q fell silent and turned to look at him when he entered. Their postures shifted, though they did not relax their embrace. Protecting each other, he realized, and an unexpectedly practiced response at that. Both of them abruptly looked much younger; both of their faces were streaked with tears, expressions wary.“Bad form not to thoroughly brief your superior when you have intel she does not,” said Bond dryly.
Relationships: Q/Severine
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	I've Drowned and Dreamt this Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unfinished Duet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/690812) by [kyrilu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu). 



> This isn't intended as a sequel to _Unfinished Duet_ but starting from a similar premise which I found captivating. See the note at the end for more on this.
> 
> On content: There are brief references to a past in which both teenaged Q and Sévérine were abused by Silva. I kept these as vague as I could make them.

“You wanted to see me ma’am?” asked Q, entering the room. He looked past M and through the window into the interrogation room where Sévérine sat and froze, glancing from Sévérine to Bond and M and back to Sévérine. Bond wasn’t particularly surprised that Q might be uncomfortable. He didn’t imagine the fledgling quartermaster had been involved in questioning anyone before.

He was more startled by the intensity of Q’s gaze. Sévérine was a beautiful woman, but he’d assumed, from their admittedly brief interactions, that Q was gay.

“I did,” said M crisply. “Your file says you speak some Cantonese? Something about youthful misadventures in China?”

Q dragged his eyes away from the window and nodded, “Yes, but I’m afraid I may be rather out of practice.”

“Do your best. Bond brought in one of Silva’s associates. Her name is Sévérine. He says she speaks English, but she’s refused to do so since she arrived, even to him.”

“She’s terrified of Silva,” added Bond. “She was his agent, but also his prisoner. I thought having him in our custody would reassure her but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Q nodded. He’d turned away from the window and stood facing M. Bond noted with approval that he’d pulled himself together and gotten his professional face back on. “What do I need to know and what do you need to find out ma’am?”

“She helped Bond, we’d like her to continue doing so and tell us what she knows about what Silva was doing. Get her to agree to speak to us, preferably in English, and you can return to your duties.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Q. He turned back to the window. Bond watched him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Q glanced back at M and Bond with an unreadable expression, then entered the interrogation room, closing the door behind him. Bond thought there might have been a hint of amusement but also rather a lot of something more complicated and painful on the young man’s face.

Q had his back to the window. His voice came through the speakers as he greeted Sévérine who had stood when he entered. She stared at him in shock and asked a brief question. Q nodded and she lunged for him.

M gave a startled yell and Bond had started for the door when he saw Sévérine throw her arms around Q and cling to him. She buried her face in his neck, speaking rapidly and there were tears in her voice. Q had embraced her tightly and was saying “Shh… it’s okay. Slow down—,” he said a Cantonese word that might have been an endearment, “—I’m out of practice.” He continued speaking softly into her hair, but now in Cantonese, his voice no less emotional than hers.

Bond looked over at M. “Just what were these ‘youthful misadventures’?” he asked.

“It appears,” said M. “That I may have to look into that more thoroughly myself.” Bond raised his eyebrows in agreement.

Q and Sévérine were still embracing, now with their foreheads touching. They continued to speak quietly to each other in Cantonese.

“Do we need to break that up?” asked Bond.

M nodded emphatically and shooed him toward the door. Bond entered the interrogation room. Both Sévérine and Q fell silent and turned to look at him when he entered. Their postures shifted, though they did not relax their embrace. Protecting each other, he realized, and an unexpectedly practiced response at that. Both of them abruptly looked much younger; both of their faces were streaked with tears, expressions wary.

“Bad form not to thoroughly brief your superior when you have intel she does not,” said Bond dryly.

“It would have taken ages to explain and I couldn’t wait through all that. Not knowing she was right there,” said Q. “He told me she was dead.”

“He?” asked Bond.

“Silva,” said Q, meeting Bond’s eyes.

“I think,” said Bond, “We’re going to need you to step into the next room.”

“There’s no time,” said Sévérine. She looked back at Q. “Her outside? That’s _her_.”

“Bloody hell,” Q swore under his breath. “Bond. Silva had a vendetta against a woman he said betrayed him. He would never say who exactly she was. Please listen, ma’am,” he said to the mirrored window. “He’s come to kill you.”

“He’s in a cell Q,” said Bond. “He can’t do anything from there.”

Q closed his eyes. “You have no idea what he can do from there. He’ll have a plan that’s already in motion that gets him free. Another ready and waiting if we manage to thwart the first.”

Bond glared at Sévérine. “Why didn’t you say something hours ago?”

She met his eyes, expression cold. “What did I care for any of you hours ago?” she asked. “If I didn’t betray him further, maybe he’d let me live. If he failed, maybe you would.”

“But that’s changed?” said Bond, watching the two of them.

She nodded, turning in Q’s arms and leaning her forehead on his shoulder. “There was so much blood,” she said and touched his side. “I thought for certain he’d killed you. He _said_ he’d killed you.”

Q shook his head and held her tighter. “It was across my ribs, didn’t hit anything vital, just hurt, and bled, like hell. He had the medic patch me up, then dumped me in Macau the next time the supply boat left. He told me you’d gone into labor, that something went wrong, and he’d let you bleed to death. Every time we spoke, he’d taunt me with a different story about the baby. It had died too, it had lived but he’d killed it, it had lived and he was going to sell it…”

She shook her head and drew back, looking up at Q, forlorn. “I miscarried... She was never his to harm.”

“She?” asked Q, voice suddenly clogged with grief.

Sévérine nodded and touched Q’s cheek, brushing away tears.

Bond cleared his throat. “Quartermaster. We need you.”

Q looked up, rage in his eyes. “Yes. You do. But can you trust me right now?”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to tell us you knew Silva. You could’ve spoken to her through the comm and never revealed you knew each other.” He opened the door and motioned for Q to proceed him out.

Q exchanged a few words in Cantonese with Sévérine. She didn’t look happy but nodded. Q kissed her forehead and they let go of each other for the first time since Q had entered the room. She returned to the chair she’d been sitting in and watched them leave.

Once out of the interrogation room, Q motioned for M and Bond to follow him to a secure conference room across the hall. “We need to get M out of here,” he began, speaking to Bond, then turned to M. “We should probably quietly evacuate anyone non-essential. I need to figure out what he’s done. It will be built like a house of cards, jog anything and the whole thing collapses on our heads.”

“He’s already hacked us?” asked Bond.

“Without a doubt,” said Q.

“Which means he’ll know all of our safehouses. I know a place I can take her,” said Bond.

Q shook his head. “Take her to your ancestral home and he’ll kill her on your doorstep.”

Bond drew back, startled. “How did you…”

“He’ll have been in our networks for days, weeks even. I’d wager he planted that reference in your word association test in the hopes you’d think of it now. Raoul does his research and he’s been planning this for years.”

“What do you propose instead?” asked Bond.

“Throw a dart at a map,” said Q.

“This is no time for jokes,” said M, tartly.

“I’m not joking,” said Q. “An actual random location may be the best option. Yes, he’ll know every safehouse, every hidey hole, but he’ll also know every vacation spot, every favorite getaway. You may even be safer staying here. But I can’t predict that for certain. He doesn’t play games he doesn’t think he can win. The deck is always stacked _and_ he’ll have an ace up his sleeve.”

“I think,” said M. “You need to take a minute to tell us how you know that.”

“You mentioned it yourself. My ‘youthful misadventures in China’,” said Q. “There should be a record of me in a British consulate. I described how I was brought to an island off Macau by a man named Raoul Silva and had been kept there for years. I even told them he was a cyberterrorist. They seem to have decided that I was an outrageous liar.”

“That isn’t what the report says at all. Got yourself kicked out of a casino for counting cards and then lost a knife fight,” said M.

“Both technically true. Didn’t even happen in the same _year_. Not a knife fight when only one person has a knife,” said Q sighing. “It’s easier to start from the beginning. I met Silva online when I was fifteen. I was flattered by the attention of an older, more experienced hacker. And—” he paused, unwilling or unable to meet their eyes. “—an older, more experienced man.”

“And what did he want from you, back then?” asked Bond. M had given him a sign to do the talking.

“To use me,” said Q. “My parents kicked me out not long after. Silva offered me a place to stay and I learned he had his _own island_.” He paused, then continued softly. “He made me his pet hacker and—other things. I was smart and corruptible and—easy to manipulate. I didn’t really stand a chance. It wouldn’t surprise me, in retrospect, to learn he had a hand in MI6 catching me.” He looked at M. “It probably amused him that you offered me a job rather than an espionage conviction.”

“And Sévérine?” asked Bond.

“He—acquired her—at about the same time as me,” Q said quietly. “He had uses for both of us, would bring us to Macau from time to time to practice our skills. That’s when I got caught counting cards.”

“And you were…” Bond began. He imagined them, both younger, dressed for the high end casinos of Macau. They’d have made an eye-catching couple, a matched set of youthful decadence hiding a horror story beneath the surface.

“We were two abused teenagers trapped on an island with a madman and his bodyguards, who weren’t allowed to touch us, which did less than you might think to make us feel safe around them, and the domestic staff, who weren’t allowed to speak to us.

“We hated each other on sight. We clung to each other like we were drowning. We were rivals for his attention. We protected each other from his rages—when we could. She made sure I ate, I made sure she slept.” Q’s reminiscent tone grew bleak, “We cut each other’s hair because we knew better than to let Raoul near us with anything sharp.” He unconsciously touched his ribcage as he spoke, the same spot on his left side that Sévérine had touched when she said she had thought Q dead.

Bond winced. M listened impassively.

“It wasn’t that we thought he’d cut us—much,” said Q, shaking his head at Bond. “He’d just get—playful. As you’ve experienced his hospitality, I’m sure you can imagine how alarming _that_ could be.”

Bond nodded grimly.

“She taught me how to shoot, I taught her how to wire a bomb.”

“And you were lovers.”

Q’s nod was barely perceptible. “We thought we were being so careful.”

“Hmm?” asked Bond.

“We were nineteen by then. She got pregnant. We weren’t certain for weeks. It wasn’t as if we could pop round to the chemist for a test. We were petrified, tried to hide it, had no idea what to do or how to get away. When he found out, she was six or seven months along. He’d been gone for weeks. We were planning an escape, but he returned unexpectedly. He nearly killed us both,” said Q. “She miscarried. I have scars. As you just heard, he told each of us the other was dead.”

“Christ, Q,” said Bond.

“I found a British consulate and told them my story. Which they either didn’t believe or lied about for Silva’s benefit. I showed them my knife wound. That at least they accepted must be real. The consulate arranged for me to return to England.”

“I know our relationship was a product of trauma. Real, but fragile as spun glass. But there was a time—” he paused and closed his eyes, “—we allowed ourselves to dream of being normal, living quiet lives, raising our child together.” He looked over at Bond and his eyes had filled with tears. “Sorry.” He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. He cleared his throat and looked at M, something akin to his professional demeanor back in place. “Does that answer your question ma’am?”

“A good start,” said M. “Now tell us about this vendetta.”

“He was poisoned, disfigured, said he was betrayed by someone he loved like a mother,” said Q.

M’s lips pressed together. “Go on.”

“He built himself a criminal empire, money, resources, favors, but all of it in service of his goal of getting back at ‘her’. I should have known he’d already have the local consulate in his pocket. But I only know about what he was doing several years ago. I’ve deliberately avoided crossing paths with him, online or otherwise, since I returned to England.”

M nodded. “I see.” She looked from Q to Bond and back again. “What’s our next move? I don’t like the idea that we have to wait to find out what his plan is.”

Bond looked at Q. “Would he talk to you, do you think?”

Q grimaced. “He’d almost certainly _talk_ to me. Would he say anything useful? I doubt it. At best we’d get an oblique clue or taunt that only makes sense after the fact.” He sighed and hunched in on himself. “And it’s a terrible idea to put me in a room with him.”

“Why is that?” asked M.

“My fear of flying is a conditioned response to one of his punishments,” he said. “I have others. There’s a reasonably good chance he could induce a panic attack, just by talking to me.” His voice was calm, but his face betrayed what it cost him to admit this.

Bond stared at him.

“And just how did you get that past the psych department?” asked M, giving Q a very direct look.

“Lied through my teeth during the initial intake.” Q’s face reddened. “And I’ve been forging authorization from my predecessor to skip my psych evals ever since.”

M blinked at him and tilted her head for a moment. “We’ll discuss that. Later.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“We need to find out if Sévérine knows anything further about his plans. And make some sort of preparations for whatever he’s about to do,” said M. “Do you think she would talk to me?”

“I think she would if I asked her to,” said Q.

“Good. Invite her to join me and I’ll see what she knows. I trust the two of you can make preparations for an unknown emergency. Seems like all we have around here after all. Meet back here in an hour. I’ll have to leave for that damned inquiry not long after that.”

“Yes ma’am,” they responded, more or less in unison.

“Thought you were gay,” muttered Bond when they got in the elevator heading for Q-branch.

“Now is not the time, 007,” said Q, giving him a sidelong look, but smiling faintly.

Bond snorted.

“Mostly,” said Q after a pause as the elevator doors opened.

“Hmm?”

“Mostly. But obviously not exclusively,” said Q with another faint smile as they entered Q-branch’s temporary facilities. He flagged down one of the techs. “Where did Silva’s personal electronics end up?” The tech pointed to a box near the central area where Q had set up his workstation. “I’m half tempted to put all of this in a shielded box and drop it in the Thames,” he said, pulling out a laptop and mobile.

“Why not?” asked Bond.

“Could learn something from it,” said Q. “Could disrupt a signal one of them is sending that starts a chain reaction. I’ll start with some passive tests.” He started gathering equipment, first from his workstation, then from the chaos of boxes and shelves surrounding them. “Can someone please bring me a cup of tea?” he asked the air.

Q was clearly in his element here, he looked less anxious than he’d been since he entered the interrogation room. He received his tea, pulled in another tech to assist with the task, and took verbal progress reports from two others in the space of just a few minutes.

Q looked up. “All right, that’s sorted for the moment,” he said. “Next step, equip you?”

Bond reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a small handgun. “I forgot. She was carrying this. I thought it was a Beretta, but on closer inspection, it’s obviously custom. Can you secure it until one of us can return it to her?” Bond held out the weapon to Q, who took it from him gently, as if he were holding something rare and delicate. He reflexively checked that it wasn’t loaded, turned it over.

Q looked over at Bond. “Did you notice this etching?” he asked, pointing to a spot on the barrel above the trigger where the metal had been rubbed slightly smoother, as if its owner had touched the spot frequently.

“I did. I can see it’s important to her, but I couldn’t read the Chinese characters. I’d assumed the English letters were someone’s initials. They’re yours?”

Q nodded. “Yes,” He touched the Chinese characters, “And this is her Cantonese name, _Cheok Yin_. It means brilliant and beautiful. I made this for her. Sentimental really—That’s where her fingertip rests when she holds it.” He demonstrated, holding the gun with his index finger extended along the barrel. Then Q returned to cradling the gun in both hands, thumb rubbing the etched characters of her name.

“I don’t know how to make sure everyone survives this, 007. And I’m afraid that my fear of him is something he’s counting on.”

“What about your anger?” asked Bond. “I saw that earlier too. Can you channel that? For what he did to both of you—and to your daughter?”

“Perhaps,” said Q. He let out a breath. “I’ve barely allowed myself to think those words in nearly a decade. ‘Our daughter’. She would be nine—nearly ten.”

“So tell me quartermaster. What do we have in the arsenal?”

“Rather a lot actually,” said Q with a fiercer expression than Bond had yet seen from him. “What would you like?”

“M is due to leave for that bloody inquiry shortly. What have we got?” asked Bond sometime later as they rejoined M and Sévérine in the conference room.

“Unfortunately, we don’t know much about his plan at all,” said M. Sévérine shrugged her agreement.

“Bond and I feared as much. I propose we just knock down the house of cards,” said Q as he sat down and placed a small case beside him on the table. “He knows you’re going to the inquiry, go, but with an extra security detail. We know he’ll orchestrate an escape, we’ll let him. Bond will be waiting. If we fail to catch him again, we’ll go with your first instinct,” he turned to Bond. “Take her to Skyfall, nice and predictable, just like he expects, but knowing he’s coming, and with the additional equipment I provided.”

Bond nodded. After a moment, M did as well.

Q turned to Sévérine. “If it comes to that, will you go with them? Help protect her?” she asked him a question on Cantonese. He shook his head. “I’ll have to stay in London, guide Silva to you all. Do what I can to disrupt his plan from here.”

He opened the case he’d carried in to reveal her handgun, two clips of ammunition, and a comm. He pushed it toward Sévérine. “Will you kill him?” he asked.

She picked up her gun, which had lain in the case etched side down, checked that it was unloaded, held it in both hands, rubbing the spot etched with Q’s initials with her thumb. She frowned, noticing something different, and looked at Q who tilted his head and looked back with an expression Bond couldn’t read. She shifted her grip on the gun and saw two new characters, freshly etched next to her name and his initials. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, then she nodded. “I will.” She said something in Cantonese.

“Thank you,” said Q, then repeated the Cantonese phrase she’d spoken.

Tanner came to the door of the room and knocked. Bond let him in. “Ma’am? It’s time for you to leave for the inquiry.” M nodded and stood. She addressed Sévérine, “Please come with me. We’ll find you somewhere more comfortable, and we hope, safe, until it is time for the next step.”

Sévérine stood up, closing the case with the gun, and put her hand on Q’s shoulder. He put his hand over hers and they clasped hands. He turned his head and kissed her fingers, whispered something in Cantonese. She smiled and responded, then followed M and Tanner out.

“What did you do?” asked Bond.

“Added a name,” he pronounced two syllables. Bond recognized them from the phrase they’d repeated to each other. Q translated, “Precious Blossom.”

“What you would have called her?”

Q shook his head. “It was the name we used for a life we didn’t yet know the gender or name of.”

“Ah,” said Bond, somewhat awkwardly. “Are you ready?”

Q squared his shoulders. “Yes. I’m about to go deliberately make a mistake a flustered, terrified version of myself might make and pray I’ve become a better hacker than him in the last ten years. I hope this works Bond. Please don’t let either of them out of your vehicle without body armor on.”

Bond nodded.

“And 007?”

“Yes?”

“I do not bloody well care if the equipment makes it back intact.”

“Yes sir,” said Bond, grinning fiercely at his quartermaster.

Silva escaped his holding cell as expected but failed in his attempt to assassinate M.

Q and Bond lay their trap, luring Silva to Skyfall.

During the long drive, when Q wasn’t actively instructing Bond, or concentrating on tracking or herding Silva, he and Sévérine spoke quietly over the comm channel. While much of their conversation was in Cantonese, periodically they’d use an English word. Q struggling to remember how to say something or communicate a thought, or Sévérine clarifying a meaning or helping Q with a term. From what context he could glean through this, Bond suspected Sévérine was repeating to Q the information she’d shared with M, and possibly filling him in on some of Silva’s other activities for the past few years.

He suspected they were intentionally avoiding any emotionally laden topics and hoped they’d have the chance to catch up on those once the current crisis was over.

“Silva’s down,” said Bond into his comm. “She’s an excellent shot.”

“She is. Everyone else?” asked Q, voice taut.

“Nothing more than bruises on anyone you’re likely to be worried about,” reported Bond. “Blew up the car unfortunately and my home will need some new windows.”

Q sighed with relief. “Thank you, 007. I’m relieved to hear everyone is well. I suspect you can send the repair bill to her majesty. Transport home and support for mop-up should arrive within twenty minutes. I’ll have you all on a plane back to London in less than an hour.”

“Glad to hear it. Transport that is,” said Bond. “M is muttering about retirement.”

“Oh?” said Q neutrally. “Perhaps she’ll forget to tell her successor about my unfortunate tendency to skip psych evaluations.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, but I suppose one can always hope.”

“Indeed. Or someone could remind her how cleverly I helped save her life this evening.”

“I suppose someone could,” Bond chuckled. “Would you like to speak to Sévérine privately?” he asked.

“Please,” said Q.

Bond turned off his comm and she and Q spoke. Bond guessed that she was giving her account of what had just occurred. When the transport Q had arranged arrived to take them to the local airstrip, she let Bond know that he could tune back in and he and Q coordinated a few final details.

Q-branch was empty except for the quartermaster when Bond guided Sévérine in painfully late, or distressingly early depending on one’s definition.

“M is home and secure,” said Bond, as Sévérine looked around curiously, then gravitated to Q who put an arm around her as she leaned into him. The pose was both achingly tender and unmistakably comfortable and familiar to both of them; a softer mirror of the defensive pose they’d assumed when he first saw them together in the interrogation room. “What survived of my equipment is on its way back by ground transport and I am taking the bloody day off.”

Q nodded. “Thank you 007. Get some rest.”

“You too,” said Bond pointedly.

“No fear. Good night Bond.”

Bond recognized a dismissal when he heard one and took his leave.

Q and Sévérine turned to face each other, embracing, foreheads touching. “I don’t know what we are to each other anymore,” she said.

He drew back slightly so they could look at one another, “Come home with me. Stay until we know?”

“Home,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if I know what that is either.”

He pulled her closer, “Let’s find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Took a break from the series I've been writing for the last several months and wrote this. 
> 
> Title from Adelle's _Skyfall_
> 
> In _Unfinished Duet_ , Q made a gun for Sévérine. I couldn't get the image of Bond bringing that gun to Q out of my head. After writing an initial more canon-compliant version, I decided I needed a Skyfall fix-it instead.


End file.
